


Mano Sinistra

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Explosions, Knight!Kylo, Language, M/M, Revolution, Revolutionary!Hux, Violence, emperor!Hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:52:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7024426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Year 2235, and the world is segregated: the Right-Handed have dominated the Left-Handed on grounds of genetic superiority. But the Left have not given up hope: the First Order lurks in the shadows to plot the State's downfall. </p><p>Hux is the General, the leader of the Left. Kylo Ren is sent to destroy him. </p><p>But he finds that he can't.</p><p>  <em>(for the 2016 KBB :) now with gorgeous art (ch5) by @slashing-through-fandoms!)</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A House Divided

**Author's Note:**

> This KBB story has art thanks to the wonderful [@slashing-through-fandoms](http://slashing-through-fandoms.tumblr.com/). (tumblr)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a world is built, and our characters set the stage.
> 
> Chapter title from Lincoln's "House Divided" speech, 1858.

_The year is 2235. The Leader Snoke took power in 2220, following the collapse of the Empire and the rise of Handedness Theory - that those who were Left-handed were weak and prone to emotion, and that those who were Right-handed were superior due to intellect._

_Both these crises became the basis for Snoke’s party. His extreme radicalism and promise of a Better Tomorrow won him popular audiences across the world, though his base of conquest has thus far covered only the western regions of the former United States._

_The State looks to expand past its former self-imposed isolation to spread its radical Handedness Segregation Theory across the continent - and, eventually, the world._

_His only opposition lies with Leia Organa’s Resistance Party, which is trying to gain social equity through administration - but the Leader laughs on them with scorn, allowing them no press coverage for them to spread their message._

_Now Hux, a young and ambitious leader of the Left, is left with little choice in this time of internal unrest._

 

* * *

 

**article i.**

From “The Basic Handed’s Phrase Book”.  
Reference book. Various contributors; yr. 2232.  
(See A662 for more information.)

 “mano _sinistra._  
from Italian; left hand.”  
(Phrases 001) 

“ _sinister._  
English; frightening, disturbing.”  
(Phrases 020)

 

* * *

 

**article ii.**

From “The Basic Handed’s Book of Phrases”.  
Reference book. Various contributors; yr. 2232.  
(See A663 for more information.) 

“main _droite._  
from French; right hand.”  
(Phrases 002)

 _“adroit._  
English; skillful, masterful.”  
(Phrases 002)

 

* * *

 

He was dressed from head-to-toe in all black, and the heat was starting to get to him.

His dark hair was ruffled, which was annoying and dangerous, but it was nothing compared to his frightened nerves. He couldn't stop his damn hands from shaking.

He needed his rapier in his hands. He needed to feel the cool metal warm at his touch, the tang of iron resting in the back of his mind.

But no. Security was doubled. Even those closest to the Leader couldn't be trusted; not after what _she_ had done.

The Knights hadn't expected an attack from _her_. They weren't prepared to face an internal attack, too used to opposition from the People, and he blamed himself for it. He should have anticipated that something like that would happen. He should have planned for moles and backstabbers and double agents, but he hadn’t. He was a fool.

A fool, yes, but also a lucky fool. The Leader had been gracious. He remembered this well, and the cold that’s gripped him edged away from the warmth that was associated with the Leader.

The Leader was “a good man and a real hero”, according to a news article this morning that had recounted his memoir. Kylo Ren loved him as if he were his father. He trusted him with his life - and yet. There was something strange about the Leader. He could not put his finger on it, but the thought would occasionally visit him in his sleep. It bothered him. He should not feel this way.

“When will he be ready?” the dark-clothed figure snapped in an oddly soft voice. A voice that soft and melodic should not be allowed such an edge, but his world was one of harsh peculiarities. It was no wonder that he was one himself.

The secretary sitting at the pristine white desk glanced up from his silver monitor. “A few more minutes,” he said.

“You said that a few minutes ago.”

He shrugged lightly. “I suppose you'll just have to wait a few more, _dear._ ”

“The Leader said it was urgent.”

Rolling his eyes and turning in his seat back to the monitor, the secretary typed furiously away on the thin keyboard.

The figure watched him carefully, hawk-eyes never leaving the smaller man. His face was stiff but his body relaxed, years of physical training leaving him wary and prepared for attack.

The secretary glanced up. “Sir? The Leader will see you now.”

The figure looked about to snarl. Instead, he whipped around and stalked through the clean white door that opened on his right.

 

* * *

 

The room was quiet and the air was still, with only a light, airy piano piece in the background. It served to fill the empty space of the Leader’s office. Most found the overwhelming white theme of the office blinding; strangely, he found it calming. He'd always been a peculiar one.

The Leader was already seated at his desk.

“Kylo Ren,” the Leader said gravely, turning around his tall-backed office chair. “Please, dear boy, have a seat.”

Kylo Ren stiffened slightly at the pet-name, but complied nonetheless. As he adjusted himself in his seat (an uncomfortable lump of a cushion), he took note of his surroundings. It was only standard procedure for a Knight, after all.

The office was empty except for the two of them. Sometimes there was a guard in the office as well, but the Leader preferred his privacy most of the time.

The room itself was empty, too. The sparse furnishings that were there took up little of the floor space, and all of it was white. The floor, the ceiling, the walls, the lights - everything.

The airy piano was brought to more solid order by the introduction of a smooth violin.

“Leader,” Kylo Ren began. He tried not to sound too...troubled. The Leader was wise, but he had also pulled Kylo Ren out of an important mission. The traitor had just evaded his grasp...

Snoke cut him off. “I understand that you're upset. But you must understand,” he leaned forward earnestly, “what I am about to tell you is far more important than that insufferable traitor. This will change your life forever - that, I can promise you.”

Kylo Ren could already feel his frustrations ebb away. They were replaced by interest, curiosity, and anxiety. “Leader?”

“I have closely followed your Knight’s training,” the Leader began. His eyes were locked on Kylo Ren’s, and the dark orbs were genuine. “Yes, you. You are easily the best of the entire program. Highly skilled in combat, a natural at logic-based subjects, and with a spectacular understanding for the Cause. The State could really use more men like you,” the Leader quipped, nonchalant.

“Thank you,” Kylo Ren said. He meant it wholeheartedly.

The Leader gave him a faint smile, his gash of a mouth twisted slightly into something more pleasant. “So polite, so clever, so talented… I daresay that you are perfect, Kylo Ren.” He paused gently for effect. “Dear boy, I’ve decided that you shall be the Prince of the State.”

His heart pounded once, twice. Stopped.

“Prince?” Kylo croaked, mouth practically hanging open.

“Heir to the State,” the Leader agreed amiably.

“Thank you,” he repeated, stunned victory rushing adrenaline through his veins. “Thank you, Leader. I will not let you down.”

The Leader smiled. “I trust you will not. But first.” The smile faded. “First, I have a one-man mission for you. It won't be easy, I'm afraid.”

“Anything, Leader,” Kylo Ren said immediately.

The Leader’s dangerous smile returned.

 

* * *

 

The small shuttle was stifled with an invisible elephant, a naïve guard, a too-clever politician, and a world-weary pilot.

“I don't understand,” said the guard.

“I didn't expect you to,” the politician replied, voice tight. Leia Organa was upset, but she couldn't allow herself to take it out on her security team (which was comprised of solely the man across from her). She was getting too old for this.

“No,” said Finn, brow creased, “we should have won that poll. The Right Associative Party had shitty speakers! That Mitaka guy could barely keep from stammering!” he pointed out fiercely. “You _killed_ it out there in the debate! That point about birth-right and relating it to the old corrupt aristocracy? It was great!”

A pause for silence.

Finn turned to his two companions, searching their guarded faces desperately, now uncertain.“Wasn't it?”

Poe, the pilot, sighed from his spot in the cockpit. “Finn, buddy,” he called back, “you do know we're never going to win, don't you? They, uh, didn’t even broadcast us today.”

Slack-jawed, Finn looked back at Senator Organa.

The older woman was little comfort. “God, I always forget how new you are,” she laughed tonelessly. Poe’s jaw tightened in the reflection, Finn observed vaguely.

“Finn, the government controls everything,” Leia Organa explained, tone void of all hope, “and that includes elections. This Parliament? These public debates? It's little but a formality. They change the statistics to fit their needs, and what they need is the ‘popular opinion’. We may get votes, but they're not counted.

“This isn't a true democracy, Finn,” she said, bitter. “This is tyranny. A fascist society. And that’s what we’ve been fighting to end.”

The small shuttle plane was quiet for a moment, the rumble of the engines all that could be heard.

“Oh,” said Finn, voice small. “But,” he added, “it'll get better, won't it? Once the Leader is gone? He's the head honcho, yeah? If he's dead -”

“He's gonna choose a successor,” Poe interrupted, adjusting his headset and flipping a few switches on the plane's control panel. “Saw it on the news. Should be announced in a few days.”

“A successor?” echoed Finn, troubled. “Why haven't we talked about this at the Party meetings?”

Leia Organa closed her eyes and slumped gently against her seat. “Dammit, Dameron. We thought they were just rumors meant to scare us off. We didn't think that he'd actually do it...”

The two men were uncomfortable, to say the least. Poe was the first to break the tension.

“Who do you think the successor’ll be?” Poe asked, mostly of Leia Organa. “That shrimpy Mitaka shit?”

Relieved, Finn snorted; Poe snickered.

Senator Organa did not.

“We think it’ll be one of his Knights.”

Abrupt silence.

 

* * *

 

A heavy knock fell at the hard door. Hux frowned, sliding his tablet into a large coat pocket. “What is it now?” he called out, trying not to sound too irritable.

“General,” called back the disembodied voice of Thanisson. “A transmission has just come in.”

“From who?”

The door creaked open, and in hobbled a shabbily dressed man with a craggly heard. He held out a battered tablet, foggy with disuse and battered along the edges. An old model, but one that served its purpose.

The old man grinned, toothless. “Here. I did exactly as you asked,” he drawled. “Even made sure to use gloves when handling this thing. Wasn't easy to find a pair, mind you. I expect I'll be paid nicely, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, quite handsomely.” The General tugged the tablet sharply from the poor man’s gloved grip, staring down almost hungrily at the screen. “Talk to Thanisson outside. He'll sort you out.”

“Thank y’sir,” the man said giddily, gleefully rushing to the door he'd entered. He called back, “Easy money! You need me again, you ring old Chopper up, yeah?”

“Of course,” the General replied absently, tapping the back of the screen until the electronic lit up. He heaved a small sigh when it finally loaded the necessary data.

(So focused was he that the General couldn’t hear the slam of the iron door.

He didn’t quite catch the short cry of pure, unadulterated terror that followed.

And he certainly did not recognize the sharp, terrible crack of a gunshot.)

On the screen of the tablet appeared a password box. Entering the code, the General waited for the recording to play, watching the screen with feigned nonchalance. He was terrified of what he was going to hear, but he was also hopeful. The information he got could make or break everything he’d worked for -

_Do not worry. I'm at a safehouse now. Will return within the week._

_Have much information to discuss. Have weapon as promised._

_Do not reply._

The blood stopped its imminent rush to the head. (Slow, slow, calm.) He did not need to worry. Everything was going to plan.

He laughed harshly to himself, sitting back down against the hard stone wall, knocking his head against its tiles

They were safe. They were winning. She was alive. She was going to save the First Order, and he was going to raise it from the ashes.


	2. Dare to Think, Dare to Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conquering hero returns, and a plot is developed.
> 
> Chapter title from a slogan by the oppressive Chinese communist government, 1958.

**article iii.**

From “The Leader’s Manifesto”.   
Government officiated document. Parliament; yr. 2220. 

“The Left are Irrational. They refuse to cooperate within Society, and this gives them an unpredictable edge. Nothing can be done for these cases. They must be suppressed in accordance with Public Safety.

Society is based on Order as maintained by the social contract. The Left threaten this Order.

The Right are Rational. Allow the Right to guide Society, and it shall blossom into an era of Peace and Prosperity.”

 

* * *

 

**article iv.**

From “The 23rd Century Guide to Handed Biology”.  
Government approved primary textbook. Various authors; yr. 2223. 

“The Right mind is specialized in analytics (ˌanəˈlidiks). That means that if you're Right Handed, you can do maths and sciences better than a Left Handed….

The Left mind seems to be in tune with emotion. That might mean that if you're Left Handed, you feel more strongly than a Right Handed person. However, there are no definitive (concrete, proven) studies to prove this. There have been many experiments and studies confirming Right mind qualities, however….

You may want to consult your teacher for more information on this topic. Next, we’ll talk about how Handedness affects physical performance….”

 

* * *

 

It wasn't easy to find the First Order.

She'd been traveling nonstop for the past week or so by foot through the forest. Stealing a vehicle, or even just driving, raised her chances of being found out. Avoiding technology and thus the Leader’s reach was crucial lest she jeopardize her entire mission.

He had eyes everywhere. Men lurking around the corners, just _waiting_ to snatch up an unsuspecting Left - to throw them into the public arena and to scream _this one is evil, this one is trying to kill us all, this one is a born and bred murderer, it's in this one’s blood -_

And she stopped for a minute to catch her breath, leaning against a dead tree. Sweat poured down her face. She tried to push back her hair but the blond locks, too, were drenched in sweat.

“Only a few more miles to go,” she promised herself. “Just push yourself that much farther, Captain.”

She loved that word, her title. It held weight. It mattered. Phasma didn't matter; that was just a label. It did not give her the respect her own hand had taken from her.

Her men, however, did. And she owed it to the title she gave herself after earning that respect.

Hux had done the same for himself. She’d met him at a student protest rally; some silly thing that had made no difference in the grand scheme of things. It was for the Left, though. She had felt obligated to go and so had he.

So maybe it did have significance. It brought them together, didn’t it?

He was brilliant with words and with weapons. She was good with her fists and with fights. They made a good team, she had to admit.

Phasma peeled herself from the tree. She glanced up at the darkening sky, have herself another hour, perhaps, until nightfall.

She would have to run until then.

 

* * *

 

The week was almost up, and Hux still had yet to hear from Phasma. He was frightened that they'd somehow managed to capture her - the Knights were always prowling the streets looking to pick off Left for no reason at all.

If she even accidentally pointed with her left hand, poof. She'd be taken into custody by “the law” and then they'd run her profile and they would realize that she was the defect. The one who'd run away from duty with precious information.

Hux was still proud of the plan - Phasma was an excellent actress and a meticulous spy. He'd never have sent anyone else. The State Council, the main government body under Leader Snoke, had gladly welcomed her into their administration.

Because of her fighting skill, Hux had originally planned for her to enter the security. But the security team was brutal, specifically the one in the Capital. They were trained to watch especially for Left and to detain them for any and all crimes.

Phasma did not want to be in that situation - either as the persecutor or the persecuted.

It had taken longer than they’d planned to get the information on the Capital Building because of her morals. Hux had calculated it over and over in his head. And now she could likely never conduct an undercover mission ever again. She was a wanted fugitive. He'd heard that even the Knights were after her.

Then was the risk really worth it?

Absolutely.

 

* * *

 

Hux waited one more day and one more night for the Captain. It was on the last day of the week time-limit that she'd given herself that he could hear a loud cheering coming from the other side of the underground Order bunker.

Curious, and anxious, he quickly sorted his papers before bounding out his office doors - if you could call it an office. It was more like his living quarters with a desk in the corner.

But that no longer mattered, because the mission was a success. A huge success.

There, in the middle of the mess hall, was a victorious and grinning Phasma, exhausted but proud as she held a small memory drive in her hand, cheered on by her own soldiers.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, and they'd gotten the drive plugged into the encrypted computer system. A window popped up asking for DNA clearance.

Ah, Hux remembered. They'd secured the drive to respond to Phasma only. They would need to wait for her to arrive at the small room, for her finger.

Fingerprint clearance really wasn't the  tightest security. Had the Knights have captured her, they could have just forced her to touch her hand to a receptor. Or just sliced off her hand and used that. That would probably work, too, he thought grimly.

“Call for Phasma immediately,” Hux ordered the nearest officer.

She paused in typing on her data tablet. “Now?”

“No, immediately as in tomorrow,” he tried not to snap, except that he did.

The woman turned about to march down to hospital wing. She shook slightly.

"Get back to work,” Hux ordered the rest of the crew, ears burned red.

The small computer crew stared back at him, partly in awe and partly in fear.

He was the leader of the Left, after all. The true leader. Organa might advocate for Left-Right equality, but she lacked what Hux had: credibility.

He was the only son of Brendol Hux, the head of the Leader’s military division. Adored as a child, his parents praised his obvious intelligence and ambition. He would be the greatest Right of his generation. He would bring great honor to the Hux name.

But, when he turned five, when he was a naïve and foolish child, when it was discovered that he was Left?

Suddenly, the Mr. and Mrs. Brendol Hux no longer had a son. Some of the Leader's top men saw to the young Hux's removal from every data source. He was cut out of photos. His birth records no longer existed. His parents’ child benefits disappeared. When asked if they had ever considered children, they answered calmly,

_No. We devote our lives to our wise Leader. We have no room for a child._

Still, they couldn't kill him.

They sent him to the outskirts of the State. There he lived with an old blind man, a disgraced Empire Moff called ‘Tarkin’ - another Left. He was the one who raised Hux, in the end. He taught Hux all he knew about politics and the Imperial ideology.

It turned out that the cleverest Left could outmanoeuvre even the cleverest Right.

Tarkin had given Hux hope, and that was the greatest gift he could have ever received. Greater, even, than a name.

Hux had long since forgotten his true name. Tarkin had called him by his (ex)family name, claiming that he needed no other.

“Sir?”

Hux looked up from where he was deep in thought. He'd been caught zoned out. He ran on very little sleep; this was a common occurrence. “What is it, Officer?”

The woman he'd sent earlier looked nervous. Her hands were practically trembling. Hux briefly considered terminating her, then remembered that, well. He didn't have enough staff to do that.

“The Captain’s supervising doctor has forbidden her from mobility. She’s bedridden, sir.” The officer swallowed hard. “That is to say, sir, she's suffered from a long period of dampened anxiety, which has only recently manifested after she removed herself from a situation of greater fear and peril. While on the run, the Captain also sustained minor wounds and bruises - simultaneously suffering from a severe lack of nutrition. Sir,” the officer added shakily.

The computer crew had gone silent. Not a single word was spoken, much less a key or button tapped.

“Officer,” said Hux calmly. “Does that sound like a problem to you? Take _this_ ,” he thrust the small drige into her shaking hands, “and just _take_ it to the captain. This information,” he practically hissed out, so ardent in his conviction was he, “is worth thousands of human lives. Do not give me excuses.”

Everyone was gaping at him. Had he overreacted?

“Leave.”

The officer didn't have to be told twice.

 

* * *

 

In the end, the drive was opened.

The plans were intact and secure, and clear and concise. He had his analysts scour the map, searching for any weaknesses in the layout.

There were none.

“Then we'll storm the Building,” Hux concluded, matter-of-fact.

His assistant Chief of Unit Divisions, or Phasma's, rather, hesitated. “We have only half the number of troops required to carry out a mission of that magnitude.”

Hux leveled him with a single, steely glare. “Then we'll just have to find more.”

 

* * *

 

The next week was spent in anxious agony.

He needed troops and he needed them quickly, because every day that passes marked another layer of security applied to the Building.

Phasma was constantly shifting between the conscious and unconscious, mumbling incoherently in her sleep whenever Hux visited her.

His days passed far too slowly. There were no reports important enough to hold his attentions for long.

He asked after Phasma’s health progress every day at 8:30 AM and 5:30 PM. The answer was always the same:

“We'll just have to wait and see. Though, she seems to be holding up right now, sir.”

Hux did not tire of hearing that Phasma would be ok. His crew, the loyal Left - they believed his devotion to her stemmed from an incomprehensible idea involving feelings of devotion unbecoming for two co-workers.

Gossip was disgusting.

No, he was happy to hear of her recovery because of what she brought to the Order. Her wits, her bravery, her strength, her determination, and her companionship.

Hux admired Phasma, but never saw her beyond anything akin to friendship. He'd never really felt that with anyone, really. Hux had always supposed that he had no time for such frivolous distractions.

But, recently, he _had_ realized that he was lonely. Without Phasma by his side, there was no one. He had an army covering his back for sure, but how many of them would actually fight for _him?_  They were concerned for themselves collectively. Hux was only the abstract figure, the Invisible Hand, that pulled the strings and set the battles.


	3. Peace, Land, and Bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A spark is ignited, and the story slowly begins to climb.
> 
> Chapter title from Lenin's slogan as he attempted to rally the Russian people into a revolution.

**article v.**

From "Pseudosciences, Legend or Fact?”: S01.E12.  
State-banned material; video source. Our History™ Channel; yr. 2171. 

 _The show opens with a quick run through of the opening title sequence and credits. Techno-electric music plays in the background as images of slavery, the Holocaust, horoscope symbols, the moon, and crop circles fly across the bright blue background, highlighted with thin hello frames. The phrase “_ PSEUDOSCIENCES, LEGEND OR FACT?” _zooms to the front, accented by a chiming sound effect._

_The screen fades to black, then opens with a good-natured man with long hair and a small beard standing in front of a peaceful and green pond. He appears to be smiling at the camera, though his face could have naturally settled as such. The bottom left corner of the screen introduces the host and his credentials._

QGJ  
Today’s episode is about, perhaps, one of the best known pseudosciences in all the history of mankind - ‘handedness’. It’s not so much a science in itself than a commonly accepted theory, like the racial theories that ran rampant in the 19th century.

_As scenes depicting imagery of people across the world being subjugated are faded onto the screen, QGJ continues to speak._

QGJ  
Especially with the rise of ‘handed’ rhetoric in the past few years, the scientific community specifically requested that this episode confirm ‘handedness’ side-effects to be a hoax. Hence, a fake science. There is nothing…

_The film returns to a serious, grim, and determined QGJ._

QGJ  
…I repeat, nothing that distinguishes a left-handed person from a right-handed person. Nothing inherently, at least. We are all capable of being whatever we want to be.

_QGJ turns to his right, and the camera pans to a serene scene of nature. Fade to black._

 

* * *

 

**article vi.**

From “Science Today”: V02.I09.  
State-banned document. J.J.B.; yr. 2170. 

“I’m not going to lie - I’ve seen some nasty things over the years. From the Separatists threatening our good Republic with their terrorist acts to the recent scientific genetic theories that have taken place, I think we can all agree that the end of the decade is a welcome one. Hopefully, next year is going to go much better.

But while I would love to get into our world’s dysfunctional society, you readers have obviously come for the science aspect. We have some very good writings on brain imagery tests to show the differences between how left-handed and right-handed brains work. Funnily enough (or not so funnily, I should say) our researchers found little to no obvious advantage for the right-handed over encompassing in our society. Running interviews with successful left-handed entrepreneurs and engineers showed much the same results….”

 

* * *

 

Hux was forced to wait an achingly long five days before something interesting would happen. Usually order was preferred to chaos, but Hux needed _work_. There was something wrong with just...waiting around. He needed to focus his mind to a task, but there was nothing that needed doing.

Hux was literally considering taking on the base’s janitor’s duties when _he_ (the fucker) walked in with a jazz of chaos.

 

* * *

 

It was a grand entrance, to say the least.

The door slammed open. The guards screamed and called for help. Smoke poured in from broken equipment. Light buzzed and flashed, highlighting the silhouette. A figure stepped out of the smoke and collapsed on his knees, arms outstretched at his sides as his thick chest heaved.

Oh, yes, Hux was there to witness the spectacle. He managed to snag a front row seat as he was walking back to his quarters/office.

The intruder’s eyes were closed, but they flickered open to focus shakily on Hux.

“The General,” the man breathed with a hint of triumph that could easily be mistaken for awe.

(The man was a mess. A dirty white shirt was offset only by a tattered black vest and dark-and-dusted pair of pants that were hastily shoved into fraying combat boots. He looked horrible.)

“That's me,” Hux said carefully. He suddenly felt self-conscious of his own voice. That was stupid. But it sounded so light and maybe pompous next to the intruder’s dark and deep voice laced with something decidedly masculine.

A light buzzed overhead, and shattered.

“Did you do this?” Hux asked, in utter disdain.

“I…” The intruder seemed to be lost for words. “I - I don't know. The Knights, they, fuck, they chased me here and, I - I literally had no idea until I saw the sun sign two trees ago -”

“Did you lead them here?” Hux cut in sharply.

The intruder’s large brown eyes widened even further, his short dark curls bouncing around his head wildly as he shook his head. “O-of course not! I would never!”

Hux stared down at the man. He crossed his arms, frowned. “What do you want from us? Shelter?”

“Sanctuary,” the intruder babbled, “absolutely, what do you need - I can provide my skills -”

The General regained control over himself and motioned for the wary stormtroopers hanging around to escort the intruder away. “Have him taken for questioning,” he murmured, leaning to the closest trooper. “Don't let him see anything that could be used against us. Take the blank route.”

The stormtrooper nodded and moved forward with his partner to apprehend the nearly raving intruder.

The intruder looked visibly panicked. “Wait! No! G-give me an audience - I -” The man was desperate, clawing at the air even as the troopers restrained his windpipe, his thick black hair matted to his face with sweat.

Hux’s curiosity, admittedly, was peaked.

He resolved to visit him privately at a later time, perhaps after the troopers had broken him, to take proof of his allegiance to the First Order. After all, some Left still worked with the State. You could never be sure.

 

* * *

 

Hux watched the man pace his cell for hours. Just five hours of pure, unadultered staring. He didn't know why he did it. Hux just...kind of...did.

It was a little creepy. But then, he _was_ supposed to have someone watching prisoners. Surveillance was a job he'd instated at the base, wasn't it? Maybe he was just helping with base security.

Yeah. Pitching in with the menial laborers.

Not like he had much else to do, what with Phasma lying about incapacitated. He needed her strategizing brains and her wise advice now. Hux hadn't realized how dependent he was on her until he no longer had her.

Really, he was half tempted to shake her awake himself. He only didn't because he didn't want to be on the end of her rage when she finally came to her senses.

Ah, but the intruder - he was a special one.

He had been pacing the cell for the past two hours, an impressive feat considering the pain he'd just gone through. The doctor had explained that the man had gone through mental and physical trauma, including considerable blood loss and high anxiety.

Hux couldn't help it though. There was something _wrong_ about this intruder. Usually those who sought asylum were greeted with open arms, but something told Hux that there was more than met the eye with this one.

Perhaps his men could sense it. They were nervous around Kylo. They all saw him write perfectly with his left hand, but sill. Double agents were everywhere; they were just lucky to get one of their own. This man could just as easily be working for the other side - for the State.

And yet Hux knew this, and yet he couldn't help _it._

He was fascinated by the man.

Maybe it was because he was far too bored, or because he had just practically lost Phasma. Maybe he was weak because of his anxiety (which he freely admitted, because lying to himself was both foolish and dangerous).

Within the dark confines of his quarters, Hux could be anyone he wanted to be. But the harsh glow of the tablet screen was hypnotizing, and Hux found that he wanted to be with the strange, tall, large, dark prisoner who'd so gripped his imagination.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Phasma still was not awake, but the doctor promised that she’d wake sooner or later. “Give it time.”

Unfortunately, this only fueled Hux’s newfound recklessness.

Maintaining a confident strut, Hux rounded corner after corner in his tunneled base until he came upon the intruder’s door.

He hesitated.

And then he remembered that Once Upon a Time, he’d been a Hux, and that a Hux never hesitated and always took what they wanted.

He pressed his thumb to the security screener and opened his eye to the identifier.

Three seconds, and then a beep for confirmation.

Hux pressed open the thick door slowly, then quickly realized he was possibly giving the man a way out and so squeezed through before slamming the door shut.

He turned around slowly. His throat was frying and his tongue felt heavy and that was how he knew that this idea was very, very wrong and very, very bad.

“Hello,” came a soft voice. It, too, sounded uncertain of itself.

Hux forced himself to look at the intruder and to take him in, truly.

Dark hair, broad and tall body - all of this he’d already know. He hadn't known about the few small moles that dotted his face like stars, the large and doe-like brown eyes, the softly plump lips, or the curve of his beautiful hands as they remained curiously stationary at his side.

“You're not going to try to attack me?” Hux managed. Relief flooded as he realized that he could speak through his hazy cloud of judgement.

The intruder cocked an eyebrow. “Why should I? I really do want to join this base,” he added eagerly. “I have to do something. I felt like -”

“How did you find our base?” Hux interjected.

The intruder looked stunned for a half-second. He recovered nicely. “I was on the run from some Knights - two of them. They chased me through the forest but I took several double-backs and managed to lose them.”

“You,” Hux said with much doubt, “managed to lose not one, but _two_ Knights?”

“I assume they were tired,” the man suggested. “I heard they were chasing after a female fugitive.”

He sounded so reasonable that Hux wanted to believe him.

“Let me ask again, differently,” Hux said. “Why should I trust you?”

“I'm Left,” the man said.

“As are many traitors to their fellows.”

“I offer myself and my skills to the cause.”

Hux paused for thought. “What sorts of skills?”

“Weaponry,” the man started, “street fighting, those kinds of skills.”

“But that's not an ample reason for trust, now, is it?”

“No,” admitted the intruder. “I guess you'll just have to take a leap of faith.”

 

* * *

 

Hux mulled over his words for hours. They could use more fighters, true. With Phasma out, more manpower was much welcome.

That was why he’d been considering Plan B.

Plan A had assumed that his greatest leader was available to fight. But even if Phasma was recovered enough to be mobile, that didn’t mean she could lob off heads and storm buildings. He did care for her, after all. He couldn’t put her on a suicide mission and not expect remorse to render him ineffective. Losing two heads in one month would deal a sharp blow to the First Order.

Usually they recruited Left from the gallows, saving a useful seeming Left’s skin to guarantee their allegiance to the First Order. By then they were usually bitter enough to bend to the will of the Order. And besides, his recruitment team was effective. There was little convincing involved.

In fact, one recruit had said that just looking upon the rising sun symbol gave him hope for the future. That was enough for Hux.

But for this man, this intruder, loyalty was not a guarantee. For all Hux knew, he could be leading the Order into a trap by accepting this man’s help.

He needed more information.

 

* * *

 

“What’s your name?”

The man looked up at him from his reclined position on the prison cot.

“Ben.”

“Just Ben?”

“Well, what’s your name?” the man challenged.

“Hux.”

He grinned, his eyes creasing at the sides. “Just Hux?”

That was strange. Usually his given name invoked some sort of awe - or terror, at the least.

He tugged uncomfortably at his dark shirt. “You don’t get to have an opinion yet.”

“I didn’t give one,” ‘Ben’ replied, cocking a brow.

Well. Now came the hard part.

Hux quickly stepped forward, slamming all of his vestige energy into a sharp punch to the man’s chest.

 

* * *

 

Right. Not his best idea. But he didn’t want to send in an underling. He knew exactly where he was in terms of fighting skill, and he needed to see exactly where ‘Ben’ was as well.

 

* * *

 

Ben stopped the attack by leaping up and grabbing Hux’s fist mid-swing, slamming him into the floor with the force Hux had used to shoot forward.

Then there was a moment of terror when Hux was sure Ben could kill him, could end his life and the life of the Order with a quick dash of his head on the cool, sharp metal ground,

but he didn’t.

He gave Hux an outstretched hand, a smile that said everything Hux needed to know, and an offer.

(a leap of faith)

Hux jumped the cliff edge wth grace.

 

* * *

 

The Senator was sleeping when she was oh-so-rudely aroused from one of her brief moments of rest. She ran two operations at once, after all. Her political party and her secret army. Sometimes the two coincided, but it was mostly just lots of leading and lots of bribing. Both were exhausting.

Imagine her surprise, though, when she received a message from an underground group that she’d believed to be a myth, or one of those silly Internet conspiracies that ran on illegal servers. 

[TO: GENERAL O  
[FROM: GENERAL H  
[TITLE: PLAN B.  
[MESSAGE:  
_we have followed your campaign, general o, and we believe a military alliance would be in the best interest of our goals. do you really believe in anti-apartheid? prove it. meet with us in three days @1600 by the abandoned textile factory on the eastern outskirts of the state-city, and we can decide upon beneficial terms. come unarmed with at most five companions, and so shall we._ ]

 

  
How intriguing.


	4. Veni, Vidi, Vici

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Julius Caesar: "I came; I saw; I conquered."

**article vii.**

From “On Societal Destiny”.  
Oratory speech. Leader Snoke; Jan yr. 2226.

“Everyone knows that the Left are cursed. I know it. You’ve all heard of it, I presume. We’ve always thought it a fable - an old wives’ tale meant to scare small children from the monster that lurks beneath their beds.

But the Monster is real this time. Dozens of studies have been conducted, and we now know it to be as true as the sun above.

The Left Handed are corruptible.

They can't help it. We can't blame them for it. But there's something that runs through their veins that makes them delicate. It’s dangerous, that vulnerability. That susceptibility to emotions. ‘Control is key’, as Palpatine the Great once said.

But the key to what? Our Destiny, as the great state that we are. I, the Leader, have foreseen a grand future - a future of a superior man, a future of a mankind that is strong and sturdy and founded on logic.

My friends, we all know this cannot happen with the Left among us.

The Left are volatile. They will bring ruin upon our carefully molded society.

The Left thus cannot be tolerated.”

 

* * *

 

**article viii.**

From “Comparison: The Before and After”.  
Government approved schoolbook. Favian Corl; yr. 2235. 

“Now, surely there can be no doubt in our minds what the Handed State Coalition has done for us is nothing short of a miracle. Where were we before the Leader stepped in? We were a mess of a peoples; a crumbling, stumbling society with our heads in the dirt and our hands all but forgotten. 

How could we have let go of such a true tradition? Such a vast part of our culture? The forefathers knew of the Hand’s properties and implications, but our recent decades have tried to pretend they don't exist.

 _Everyone is equal,_  the Left lied. _Everyone has the potential for the same destiny. Everyone should be given equal opportunity._

Equal opportunity! So, what, the Left expected us to forget what their hands made them? What the Man Up There had chosen for them? Why should we, the Right, work against Nature’s laws?

Without the Leader, we'd still be in the dirt. Never forget that.”

 

* * *

 

He’d decided to trust Ben. Was that a mistake? Almost certainly. Especially because it’d been based on what the Leader had called him and all the others out on.

Emotion.

It made him weak, and now he knew why.

In the State, you did not choose who you spent your life as a companion to. The State chose your spouse. They always matched a man with a woman to produce children for the State, but Hux had heard of behind-closed-doors dealings that more matched each person’s...preference.

Hux had never really had a preference, or any sort of bond or attachment to another person. But he had let his guard down, this time.

Now he spent hours in front of his tablet, watching Ben pace the small confines of his prison cell. They treated him humanely, giving him ample food and water and refresh time.

But he had a meeting in a day’s time, and he couldn’t take a large entourage. He would need a team of five or less persons, and against all rationality, Hux wanted to take Ben.

He was insane. Out of loop. Gone off the deep end.

Hux couldn’t help it. It was what his damn hand had fated him to.

 

* * *

 

 “You want to prove your worth, Ben?”

“Absolutely. Anything.”

“Then follow my instructions.”

 

* * *

 

_You will remain in sight at all times._

_You will follow any and all instructions my team gives you without question._

_You will not speak during the meeting._

“Who are we meeting with?”

“That is not your concern.”

_Should anyone choose to attack me, you will be the first to come to my assistance. Should this mean the loss of your life, so be it._

“Of course.”

“Good.”

 

* * *

 

The team set off at 1300. The old textile factory was actually fairly close to their base, but they chose to get there extra early to set-up defense mechanisms. They had promised to come unarmed to the meeting, and they would. The factory, however, would not.

Hux wasn't stupid.

Ben followed them quietly as Hux had commanded. When released from his cell, he had given Hux a nod, and that was his sole acknowledgement for the day.

Hux was actually impressed.

The rest of the team, however, gave Ben some space. The explosives technician, Matt, had obviously been dying to question Hux on Ben’s position on this crucial mission. Hux was glad he refrained himself. Had he asked the question, Hux would not be able to respond.

The march to the factory (vehicles were sparse and untrustworthy) was altogether agonizing. Hux couldn't help but believe he was making a huge mistake, and perhaps he was.

Not on choosing to meet with Organa. No - she was an honorable enough woman, with better judgement than most. The fact that she was Right made Hux wary, but he refused to stoop to the same levels as the Leader and succumb to the pseudoscience behind handedness.

It was not that he lacked faith in his team. He’d placed the life of himself and of the cause in their hands time after time and found them as capable as they came.

It was Ben that he was worried about. Something about him would trigger something, good or bad. The leap of faith he'd taken seemed to end on jagged spikes rather than cool waters.

 

* * *

 

The textile factory was open and rusting and had plenty of obstacles. Perfect.

Hux gave his team the order to begin preparations. They set off immediately, laying down thin wires and taping up hidden explosives. They had an hour to go, and they were going to make it count.

Ben seemed like he was going to go help Matt with a large box, but Hux stopped him. “Stay by my side,” Hux said sharply. There was no way in hell that he was going to give Ben the opening to a bomb.

_Hux was not insane._

Ben walked over to silently stare at Hux. Which was freaking him out, a little.

“You can speak,” Hux relented.

“What are we doing here?” Ben asked immediately. His eyes were wide. It set off a gleam that was alluring in the dark, flickering light of the factory.

Hux studied him carefully. “Securing a deal.”

“For arms?”

“Something like that, Ben.”

He couldn't stand the crawling feeling Ben’s searching eyes set upon his skin. Hux looked away.

“I've never seen anyone with red hair before,” Ben confessed.

Oh, Hux just _had_ to look back now.

“Is it that frightening?” Hux asked, letting his usual subtle sarcasm drip from his words like bitter honey.

Ben had the nerve to grin. “I think it's becoming.”

Who even said that anymore?

“Who are you?” Hux asked before the question could process. Shit, he was acting more peculiar than usual. (There was just _something_ about this man.)

“Ben,” Ben answered. “I grew up in a village only a few miles from your base. My mother sent me to those outskirts when I was small, when it was clear that I was, well.” He shrugged. “Different. Left. She wanted me to have the best chance available to me, and that was far from the Capital as possible.”

There was something wrong with Ben’s story, but Hux couldn't put his finger on it. He wasn't sure if he wanted to, in any case. The man was enamoring, and he could only feel himself falling deeper and deeper into his influence.

“The same with me,” Hux confessed. “The Capital always taught me that my only worth was in the hand I wrote with. The outskirts teach you how to find worth in your strength. I assume that's where you learned how to fight?”

Something flickered in Ben’s eyes. “Yeah. I lived with some family friends on the wrong side of town.”

Hux laughed, though it came out more bitter than amused. “The ghettos, eh?”

“Yeah,” said Ben. “You have a nice laugh,” he admitted, changing the direction of the conversation very, very sharply.

Hux was stunned, to say the least. No one had ever dared…

“Excuse me?”

“I can't stop thinking about you,” Ben continued.

“Stop,” Hux ordered, but it came out weaker than he'd planned.

“You have red hair, like rose petals, and green eyes like the thorns that guard them,” Ben whispered, his eyes locked on Hux’s.

“Are you a poet? You shouldn't be, really, at all,” Hux managed. "That was terrible."

“That awful?” Ben asked, a smile threatening to tug at his lips.

They were barely two inches apart, now. When had that happened? When had Hux gotten so warm? Was he really sweating _now_ of all times?

“Yes,” Hux said.

“I tried,” Ben murmured, and his wide-eyes gaze glanced down at Hux’s lips.

That was a proposition if Hux had ever seen one.

“I’ll try, too,” Hux replied, his voice awkwardly cracking, which was really awkward but not unexpected because, sure, he was capable but he had never done well with feelings -

“Sir.”

It was Thanisson, the electrical engineer on his team.

Hux quickly pulled away, practically shoving Ben in an effort to make the situation not as intimate as it had felt a second ago.

“Thanisson,” Hux acknowledged weakly (because _fine_ , Ben had made him feel weak in the knees). “Report.”

“We’ve spotted first signs of the other group’s approach.”

Hux didn’t miss the dark glance Thanisson tossed Ben’s way.

“Thank you, Thanisson. You may leave now.”

The young man quickly turned away, shouting something indiscernible at the other men. Hux and Ben could hear the scramble to put away tools and cover their tracks.

Hux studied Ben once more. “What was that?” It came out sharp. Good.

“I meant every word,” Ben assured him. He wasn’t smiling this time. He was very, very serious.

It was...unnerving.

“Stay at the back until I give an order. Or if someone moves to attack me.”

Ben nodded.

 

* * *

 

“General Organa,” Hux called out in greeting as the petite woman strode smartly into the factory. “My name is General Hux. I am the leader of the First Order, and -”

“This is where you wanted to meet?” Organa interrupted. “This thing’s a heap of junk.” The older woman’s mind was as sharp as ever, it seemed.

Hux was somewhat miffed. “It's one of the few places the State has no surveillance over. It was a lucky find.”

Hux quickly took note of the other general’s companions: a dark-skinned male with a hunted look about him, like he knew he shouldn't be there; a lithe young woman who looked ready to punch him; a thin and aged man with a finely trimmed and greying moustache, who Hux could tell was judging everything and making plans for, well, everything; and a tanned man with tousled curly hair and a pilot’s bomber jacket.

His own team probably looked better. They were uniform coordinated and gave away no emotional weakness.

“I'm surprised,” General Organa said casually. “I expected you to be older. You're awfully young for the leader of an underground revolutionary society.”

“I hear you were as well, during the years of the Empire,” Hux retorted.

His team looked effectively menacing behind him.

“Hah!” Organa barked in laughter. “Very true! Though, you must understand, I didn't expect Snoke to come to power in the vacuum. I apologize to you for that, and to all the Left with you,” she said gravely, with a nod.

Hux sniffed in disdain. “None of us could have expected it.”

Organa’s group had begun to look restless. She could feel it; she plowed on:

“So, you wanted an alliance.”

“Yes,” Hux replied. He took a calm step forward, trying to establish his upper-hand in their new relationship. “One that I think you'll find mutually beneficial. Both of us want Snoke out of the picture, yes?”

Organa nodded.

“We have the building plans to the State’s Capital Building. We know precisely where he is for eight hours of the day. Our forces combined -”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Organa interrupted, again. “How do you know about the Resistance?”

“Please, who doesn't?”

Now Organa looked miffed. “Continue, Hux.”

“Our forces combined, we can storm the building and make our way to Snoke’s office. Assassinate him. Take charge of the government.”

“And who will be the new head?” Organa asked sharply. “Surely not you.”

Hux wasn't fazed. “We can determine that after the deed’s been done.”

“Excuse me?” Organa’s face was twisted in a frown. “I'm not helping a new upstart secure domination over the good people of this nation.”

“You won't be,” Hux snapped. “I'm not Snoke. Should I come to power, I _will_ promote justice and peace and safety, not this _disorder_ and _irrationality_ that Snoke’s regime has allowed to shadow the people -”

“Oh, that's what they all say,” Organa laughed, mirth absent from her tone. “I've heard enough. Tempting, _General_ , but save your plans of grandeur for other ears.” She turned away, shaking her head in false mourning.

“Wait.”

Hux whipped around - it was Ben, and he had stepped forward and he had spoken, completely disregarding Hux’s exact instructions.

“Ben,” Hux hissed, betrayal and a sense of failure battling within his very bones, “stand. Back.”

But Organa had paused.

“What did you say?” she asked, not daring to hope.

“Leia Organa,” Ben said. He stepped out of the shadows, the flickering lights creating a hazy but dramatic aura about the already mysterious man.

“Ben,” she breathed.

Hux sneered. He tried to mask his terror, along with his embarrassingly obvious ineptitude. “How do you know this man?”

He was ignored.

“How did you escape?” Organa asked, her frantic eyes searching Ben’s phlegmatic face. “Your father and I, we thought you were gone, forever.”

“No,” Ben said simply.

Organa immediately hardened once more. “No, you didn't escape. You were always too much of a coward,” she practically spat, leaning forward as if to spit at his feet. They were still a good ten feet apart, but the intensity of her fierce gaze nearly split the ground in two. “He's still got you in a golden leash, eh, Ben?”

“How _dare_ you,” Ben hissed, anger warping his formerly stoic features. “The Leader is a good man, and only wants what's best for the State.”

Hux snapped back to attention. “The Leader?” he nearly spluttered, red beginning to sear his vision at the mere mention of the name. “Ben, what is _going on_?”

“Your guard dog here is a puppet of the very organization you despise,” Organa’s thin, moustached companion said calmly. “Kylo Ren, of the Knights of Ren.”

“Statura,” Organa sighed. Her companion was undeterred.

Hux could practically feel the terror running through his veins like ice. “Ben?”

“I'm sorry,” Ben said. It was said carelessly; he did not sound very sorry.

“Fuck,” said Hux.

That summed up all of his feelings very efficiently.

Ben - Kylo? - didn't fight when Hux’s men secured him with a pair of restraints they'd packed in case. Ben stared straight at Hux, unblinking, and Hux refused to look away from him first. He wondered vaguely why Ben would not fight - he was strong, and he was large. And trained, apparently, as a knight. He could likely fight everyone in the room and win.

Instead, he chose to stare Hux down.

_(Had he meant what he said?)_

Organa wasn't finished.

Hux relented, and looked back over at the other general. He realized now that he was standing in the middle of the factory, and right between the general and her son. Even without much thought he could strategize. Huh.

He could see her anger ebbing away like an ocean tide, and sorrow and guilt took its place. He flexed his left hand unconsciously, preparing for a fight if need be. People were unpredictable when desperate.

“Give me my son.”

Hux let his face go carefully blank. So now Ben was a bargaining chip; that would be very useful.

“I will give you your son,” Hux said slowly, “once I've secured the Building, with your military support.”

Leia threw her hands in the air, shock launching her into a bout of hysteria. “That's it! You're insane!”

“Then we’ll execute him.” Hux shoved his own feelings to the side, neatly sorting them into a _Look Into This Later_ file. Detachment was refreshing after both this debacle and Phasma’s incapacitation.

“Men,” Hux added gravely. His four other companions drew their hidden firearms, raised and aimed them at Ben’s heart.

Even with this neat organization, something still pained Hux ever so slightly.

(“You brought weapons?!” cried the dark-skinned man in outrage. “That's just dirty!”

“Liars!” the young woman shouted. Hux could feel her seething without even looking.

It felt like victory.)

Ben was prompted to sink to his knees on the floor, hands held behind his head. His dark, curly, unruly hair stuck to his forehead. This was the only discernible sign of his nerves.

“You're making a mistake,” Statura warned from behind Organa. “Young Ben here may still have information regarding the Building that we don't.”

“We?” echoed Hux, glancing over at the thin man.

Statura swallowed, an almost indiscernible action. He said, bravely, boldly, and with only the most marginal hesitance:

“I accept your proposal.”

Hux’s men were shocked and loosed their grip on their weapons. Ben scrambled to his feet, dusting billowing across the floor. It curled around his feet.

Organa turned to Statura, shocked. “I -”

“Your personal interest and bias were blinding you,” Statura informed her calmly. “I believe cooperation with the First Order to be in the best interest of the Resistance. After all,” he acknowledged, “aren't they the very people we’ve sworn to defend?”

“ _Hux_ here is talking about conquering,” Organa argued, pointing an accusing finger in Hux’s direction. “We're about equality.”

“General, ma’am,” the curly haired man said hesitantly, “working within the system, as we've done for the past few decades, will continue to take us nowhere.” He took a deep breath. “That's why you're our general, right? We are an army. I think the time’s come that we use it. Alone, we’re too small. I hate to say it - but combined with Hux, we could win.”

“Dameron," Organa sighed, "just because we could win doesn't mean we should."

Hux had to agree, to an extent. An overthrow of Snoke would rip society to threads once again, and they would take years to rebuild it. A rise in crime, a rise in unemployment, a rise in ghetto areas - all of that would come to pass.

Organa knew - Hux had every intention of ruling over the State in Snoke’s stead. But his policy of deSnokinization would save the State from imploding. He had worked on plans for every scenario for years and years upon years.

He could see himself in a golden laurel. He could see himself being graced with awards and achievements in human rights and leadership.

Hux needed that.

“Something needs to be done. Your way isn't working.” He extended a hand in Organa’s direction, daring her to take the few steps forward to shake his hand.

She was so, so desperate. Hux loved it.

Organa took his hand in hers and squeezed until he was numb.

“You _will_ return my son to me at the end of this,” Organa reminded him sternly.

Ben laughed.

 

* * *

 

Kylo Ren was marched back to the base with the loss of his pride and dignity.

His mother… Damn. He hadn't expected Hux to meet his mother - of all people! Snoke would be delighted to have this information.

Except that now that Kylo Ren actually had information to pass along, he had no way to relay the message. Security on him would be doubled. Free time would be nonexistent.

Regret bit at him. He didn't know why he'd revealed himself in the textile factory. All that he knew was that it was incredibly fucking stupid.

There was something about Hux that just absolutely crushed him.

The way he walked, the way he spoke, even the way he _sneered_ and _snarled_ and _smirked_.

He couldn't get the flames and roses and thorns and snakes to leave him.

His words replayed over and over -

_I’m not Snoke._

_I'm_ not _Snoke._

I’m _not Snoke._

 _I’m not_ Snoke.

\- until they twisted and warped, turning into something new and delightfully more dangerous -

\- but that was neither here nor there, and not worth dwelling on.

They locked him back up in the cell, the two who’d restrained him. A woman, his jailer, came by later with a glass of dusty water and told him that the general was coming to see him. She was not happy, and perhaps wanted to strangle him by the way her hands were shaking. Evidently, Kylo was not popular amongst the First Order.

Speaking of...

He could’ve taken all of them out - the ones who'd restrained him. By the grace of his training, it would have been easy - laughably easy, in fact. Hux’s crew may have been well-organized, but they were far from well-trained.

But Hux had looked so wounded, so defeated. It was unbecoming for a man of his position, even if he were only a mere Left. It was disgusting. Disgraceful. And a plethora of other such synonyms, in infinite languages, because it seemed that his mind was only willing to focus on the same words in different patterns.

Hux - that strange, thin, vibrant man - was going to be the death of him. And Kylo hardly knew why.

He betrayed the State. He betrayed Snoke.

God, why?

 

* * *

 

“Why?”

“You're going to have to be more specific,” Kylo said dryly.

He was still sitting in the jail cot, wrists bound in cuff restraints.

Hux sat across from him in a folding chair he'd brought. His face was carefully blank.

“The whole act. We know that you must be here acting under orders from Leader Snoke.” Hux’s lips curled in disgust at the name. “So, why are you here?”

“As opposed to where?”

Hux’s patience was already wearing thin. “What were your orders from Snoke?” he prompted coldly.

“I’m not a barista.”

Hux frowned and leaned against the back of his wobbling chair. “Fuck you,” he said impassively.

“Wouldn't you like to,” Kylo replied with a smirk.

Hux immediately lost any semblance of calm. “Why the _hell_ are you really here? A Knight of Ren would never abandon such an elite post. You're all too well-trained, like a pack of vicious dogs.”

Kylo Ren grew indignant at that, opened his mouth the speak, to threaten and curse, but resisted. Hux had continued.

“But then why would you give up your identity like that, at the factory? You gave me a useful bargaining chip,” his lips curled every so slightly at the phrase, “and secured my diplomatic victory for the night. This could - and will - destroy your precious Leader. So, why? Why, Kylo Ren? That is my question for tonight. Not _who_ , not _where_ , not _how_ , not _when_. Why?”

Hux reeked of desperation. Just like Organa, right before she'd made a deal with the devil to “save” her son.

Kylo spat at Hux’s feet.

 

* * *

 

Phasma looked up at Hux, so, so extraordinarily tired. 

“What happened?” she asked, her voice thick with medication.

Hux was relieved to see her awake, at least. His shoulders visibly untensed, and his eyes shone just a little brighter.

“You passed out once you got back from the mission,” he informed her. “You'd been starving yourself, Captain.”

“No, not starving,” she replied, rolling her eyes up to the dusty-dark ceiling. “I had to keep going. I couldn't risk -” A shuddering cough cut her off.

Hux waited for her to finish.

She now wheezed slightly as she spoke. “I couldn't risk capture by those Godawful Knights of Ren. You don't know what they're like, Hux; you haven't been Outside in so long; it’s horrible out there, what they're doing -”

“There's a Knight in the basement,” he confessed, in a tone so quiet that Phasma almost thought she'd imagined it.

“General?”

He cleared his throat, forced the red tinge staining his ears to disappear. “There's a Knight. He was to infiltrate our operations, but then ended up saving them. He claims to have switched sides, Captain.”

“Lies,” Phasma said immediately and fiercely.

Hux shook his head. “You don't understand. He's the son of the Resistance leader.”

Phasma’s eyebrows shifted up. She attempted to sit up, but her efforts led her chest to convulse in a small bout of coughing. She was forced to settle back down. “Organa has a son? How do you know?”

He pulled out a hospital chair and ruefully settled back in it. “This is going to be a long story,” he warned.

 

* * *

 

By the time he'd reached the end, Phasma was tightlipped. “That is very strange,” she admitted in a strained tone. “What are you going to do?”

Hux sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. “The Left are suffering. You just told me; you've seen the horrors the Leader has called upon.”

“So we need to act as quickly as possible,” Phasma concluded.

“Precisely.”

“So you're going to contact Organa.”

“That's the plan.”

“And you're going to return her son?”

Hux rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I don't know.”

Phasma grimaced. “It'd be easier to execute him, Hux.”

“Organa wants him desperately enough to surrender her ideals,” Hux thought aloud, “which makes Kylo an excellent pawn.” (His stomach turned at the mere utterance of his name. Damn.)

“What, so you're going to go through with it? He's dangerous, Hux,” Phasma warned. She coughed once more, arms too weak to even reflexively cover her mouth.

“All of them are; I know. I can handle just one. I'm sure of it.” Hux stood to leave, but paused at Phasma’s sharp glare. “What, Captain?”

She sighed, turned her head gently away. “Forget it. You're making a bad call.”

Hux left.

 

* * *

 

[TO: GENERAL O  
[FROM: GENERAL H  
[TITLE: ACCEPTED.  
[MESSAGE:  
_we accept your proposal. send us the_ r _’s stats and we will formulate a plan for the event. this_ will _be on our terms, I assure you. you will not receive_ package k _until our half of the transaction is upheld._ ]

 

[TO: GENERAL H  
[FROM: GENERAL O  
[TITLE: re//ACCEPTED  
[MESSAGE:  
_bring_ package k _with you to the event. i need proof of condition. please, i know how easy it is to doctor a photo. should anything have occurred in regards to the state of the package,_ r _will be retracting all aid._ ]

  

[TO: GENERAL O  
[FROM: GENERAL H  
[TITLE: re//ACCEPTED  
[MESSAGE:  
_fine. but the package’s transport will be costly. should any damages occur to_ 1o _, they are on your shoulders._ ]

 

* * *

 

The stats came through quickly and neatly. Sending the file to his analysts was an easy ordeal. They were excited to work in a project of such immense importance. 

“You're writing history,” Hux had told them grandly, and it was true. Every keystroke, pen curve, and digit crunch was adding up to the glorious Storming of the Capital Building that would surely be recorded in the volumes of the future Empire.

Empire. Hux would be Emperor. It would be glorious and good and golden. He would be loved and adored for himself - not for his supposed attributes, based on silly theories of Handed coordination. Based on pseudoscience.

The analysts worked day and night.

Hux visited them when he could, but he most often stayed with Phasma. Typically only when she was sleeping, of course. He didn't like her disagreeing with him. Which was stupid and petty of him, but he was too tired to care.

He watched Kylo Ren (Ben, God, _Ben_ ) over the security feed in between. He did little of interest besides exist, but Hux supposed he had Organa to blame for that. Hux almost considered going down to the cell to visit the enigma, but found plenty rational reason _not_ to every single time.

The raven-haired man was taunting him. He was sure of it. Hux just…didn't know how to respond. Usually he'd easily dismiss the situation as “two can play this game” and then their own strategy against them, but Ren? He’d played the Lust card. Hux would never sink to that level. He could never.

Why had Ren, even? It was completely unnecessary. He could have gone on his merry way, ever the unsuspected. He could have continued to hide from Organa. He could have fed intel to Snoke with little problem. Worse, he could have continued in his seduction. He could have made Hux trust him.

Hux really might’ve. He hated that.

 

* * *

 

“The analysts finished their calculations an hour ago,” Hux informed her.

Phasma smiled weakly. She was still bedridden, but she had garnered more of her strength over the past week. “Good job, General.”

“We'll be departing in two days’ time.” He brushed imaginary dust from his right shoulder briskly. “You won’t be able to lead.”

“I expected as much,” Phasma sighed; she looked disappointed nonetheless.

Hux shrugged. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

“I understand.” Her face went stony. “Must you take the Knight with you?”

Hux bit out, “Organa’s terms. Not mine.” The words were bitter. “You know that I wouldn't if I had the choice.”

"I don't know, General,” Phasma laughed hollowly. “The way you talk of him -”

Hux snorted. “Excuse me?”

“You're scarlet, right now. How quaint.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Hux countered coldly. “The Knight is an enemy of the Order and a threat to the future Empire. He will be sent to the senator as soon as possible to ensure swift victory on our part. That is his only function on this base.”

“With all due respect, General, you’re terrible at lying. Especially to yourself.”

 

* * *

 

Two rough hands grabbed out at Kylo as he barely stirred awake. “Move it,” growled a harsh voice in his ear, shoving-guiding him to the opened cell door.

“What’s going on?” Kylo tried to demand, but the world was rushing sideways while flowing up and it was disconcerting. His blood pounded in his ears. His tongue was heavy with lead. Something was burning, but he couldn’t tell what.

“You’ve been drugged,” said his female guard simply. “Don’t worry. It’ll wear off by the time you see Mommy.”

Kylo tried to curse her and the Order out, but he could only mumble a feeble curse before dropping off into unconsciousness once more.

 

* * *

 

 

“How’s he doing?” Hux asked warily.

“Unconscious, General, but in livable condition. He’ll be fine,” the doctor informed him as she scratched a line or two down on the data pad she had. She adjusted her glasses vaguely before wandering off further in the hangar. 

It wasn’t an airplane hangar, per say. It held all of their vehicles, but they weren’t able to afford a plane yet. They’d make their way into the Capital by land vehicle. Dangerous? Absolutely.

But they had the Resistance on their side - and if that didn’t work, they had the leader of the Knights of Ren.

Hux had few misgivings.

Hux boarded the military-style truck waiting for him. His truck’s precious cargo was the Knight himself. Drugged in the backseat, Kylo was expected to wake twenty minutes before they rendez-vous’d with Organa.

“Good afternoon, sir,” greeted the truck driver amicably. His seat was on the right. Each truck was specially designed to accustom to Left tendencies; it was far easier to drive from the right seat than from the left.

“Good afternoon.” Hux fastened the seatbelt, satisfied with the _click_ of the buckle.

 

* * *

 

They had no trouble traveling through the forest. A week before, he’d sent a team of would-be cartographers to map the landscape and to choose what they thought would be the easiest route for a small army of trucks. Quick and efficient, Hux decided, and quite intelligent. He couldn’t have had a better, more devoted army.

He almost felt like Napoleon, really. Making his march into Russia. He just hoped it wouldn’t end the same way.

 

* * *

 

Kylo mumbled something incoherent in the backseat at the halfway mark.

At the third-quarter mark, his rose a hand, limp and flaccid.

Twenty minutes before their arrival, he awoke and immediately started pounding on the glass separating Hux and the driver from him. “LET ME OUT,” he mouthed, even scratching like some feral animal at the glass screening.

Annoying, but easy to ignore.

 

* * *

 

Organa met him on the outskirts of the Capital.

The Leader had done a bad job with the Capital, actually.

For one, it was surrounded by...nothing. Just dense forests. Had there been cities to pass through, people would have spotted him from miles back.

For another, the city itself was rather small. It was grand and it was rich, but you could walk from one side to the other without breaking a sweat.

Lastly, the only protection it had was a toll barrier and dozens of soldiers. The soldiers were frightening, but that was nothing compared to the minefield threatening any illegal trespassers.

Otherwise known as Hux.

One wrong move and they all go BOOM. And that would be it - no Glorious Revolution, no anarchy, no realization of anything ever at all.

They expected resistance. They also knew that the guards wouldn't move automatically for the mines. They were human, after all. And what could be more fearsome to the average human than threat of failure?

 

Kylo Ren was awake.

 

* * *

 

Organa’s teams filled the empty vehicles. She’d provided weapons and willing men, as well as herself. No vehicles of importance, however. And they had an emergency exit door (where, he wasn't sure, but he'd find it eventually).

She was standing and talking with the three young Resistance officers he'd met at their first meeting. When she caught the other general looking at her, she dismissed the three and moved to join Hux by his truck.

“My son?” the weary general prompted.

“Backseat,” came Hux’s short and succinct reply. 

She nodded, and moved to the back of the vehicle to speak with Kylo Ren. Twenty minutes later when she poked her head back out, she seemed even more exhausted than before.

Hux was curious, unfortunately. “How is he?”

“You drugged him,” Organa said with clear disdain. “He's not an animal, Hux!”

“He may as well be! He's a Knight!” Hux hissed. He stabbed a finger in Ren’s direction. “Do you know what he does to my - my kind?” He stepped forward, dwarfing the woman in front of him, voice lowering. She was not intimidated. “He slaughters them without thought. He kills them for game, I've heard, because he fucking gets off on it. He doesn't care for Left at all. And with how close he is to the Leader, you'll understand my _extreme concern_ with having brought him on this _world-changing_ mission!”

Organa stopped him with a deep breath on her part, like a sigh. “General. He is a Knight, but he is most certainly human. Just now, he looked me in the eye and told me he wanted to help.”

“Are you _joking_ -”

“No,” Organa said, still calm. “He can’t lie to me. I’m his mother.”

Hux bit the inside of his cheek angrily, trying to will the red rage that built up behind his eyes away. He could stay calm; he could play this game.

“With all due...respect, General,” Hux said slowly. “With all due respect, you have not seen your son in years. Is this really the wisest choice? You want to let him on the battlefield? Knowing full well the nature of his recent past?”

“Ben will not betray us,” Leia said with optimistic confidence. “I am sure of it.”

Hux was going to scream. “How?”

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s enamored by you, Hux,” Leia practically _gloated_ , a bright grin ripping through Hux’s dizzying vision.

“Impossible,” he whispered, hot and harsh and brash. He hated how he reacted to such a simple statement, like an affection-starved teenager. Stupid.

Leia crossed her arms, lifting her chin in defiant victory. “I know what I saw in his eyes.”

“Oh, yes, because his _eyes_ must be such a reliable source of information!” Hux nearly cried, a sense of the hysterical steam-plowing his mind. “Well, General, now I’m convinced that Kylo Ren should definitely not be on this mission. Thanks.” 

“If you do not let him on this mission, I will pull out my troops,” Leia said, not a tinge of regret marring her pleasantly tranquil features. “I’m not the one who wants to be on this mission. In fact, I’d rather not be. Just how far are you willing to go, Hux, for this future you so badly want?”

Hux was stunned. A stonewall of realization practically smashed over his head in a blinding collapse of the world he’d thought he’d seen so clearly. “You think this is a suicide mission.”

Leia paused. Hux drank in his surroundings on the edge of the forest, on the edge of a new era - what COULD BE a new era - and of a new and better tomorrow that maybe he could look on with pride. The Left were bustling around him, humming with excitement and hope as they mingled amongst the Resistance, their black uniforms merging into a sea of equality that was both tragic and wonderful.

And here was this small, insignificant woman who could ether make it or break it. This sharp, clever general who fought for a cause she couldn't put all her faith in. Because of him, maybe. Because of her son, maybe.

“It's insane,” said this being of so many qualities he couldn't put a finger on.

_Maybe._

 

* * *

 

 

The guard at the gate started at the thick shadow in the distance spilling from the Forest Wall.

"What is that?” he muttered into the com, waiting anxiously for a reply.

It came back, with static and in a rush. “We don't know -”

The line was cut off.

The guard swallowed hard, and looked to his partner. This was his first day on the job - it was supposed to be ridiculously easy. But _no_ , of course something had to fuck up.

The shadow grew larger, and the guard realized it was a line of black military-grade trucks. He stood a few feet in front of his guard post. He tried to look larger than he was.

Shifting in his white armor, he demanded shakily, “Halt! Who are you?”

The first truck slowed to a stop in front of the guard, gasoline stinking in his nostrils.

The right door clicked open, and out-stepped a tall, thick man with wavy dark hair.

“I am Kylo Ren,” he said gravely, a strange smirk threatening to tug at the corner of his lips. “I’m here with a, ah, delivery for the Leader.”

“Kylo Ren,” the guard echoed, stomach turning over. “Leader of the Knights of Ren? Th-the Heir to the State?”

He nodded. “Yes. It would be in your best interest to open the gate.”

“But…” The guard trailed off uncertainly. “You haven't got the clothes - er, uniform. Or the, y’know, helmet-thingy.”

Kylo Ren peered down, and appeared to realize belatedly that he was still dressed in the civilian clothes of a faded white button down, black vest, and dark pants with scuffed boots. “Is that a problem?”

His voice carried a carefully revealed layer of threat. The guard knew he was Kylo Ren - he'd seen his face before in press columns - but he couldn't help but feel like something was off.

But those eyes were daggers, and they were tearing his soul open to reveal secret after secret after sin.

The guard swallowed the lump that’d reformed in his throat. “No,” he whispered.

“Good.” Kylo Ren turned around to re-enter the trunk whence he'd come, when,

“Should I alert the Leader to your presence?”

Kylo Ren hesitated. “He should already be aware of my presence.”

“I don't have a memo. Sir,” the guard added.

“Don't worry about it,” Kylo Ren dismissed, pulling himself back into the truck.

The guard stepped out of the way, let the dirt billow around his body until the entire line of trucks had departed. There were about ten of them, the guard counted. What could be in them?

He turned to his shift partner.

His partner nodded. “Alert the Leader,” he ordered through the white helmet.

 

* * *

 

They were only twenty feet from the Building when a hail of gunfire rained down on the lead vehicle.

“Fuck,” Hux cursed, hands automatically going up to shield his head. He threw himself from his seat under the dashboard, taking cover from the bullets that reflected off the front window. “Fuck!”

“Language,” Ren tsk’d from the backseat, leisurely stretched across the wide space.

Their driver wildly attempted to steer, slamming his foot down on the pedal. “There goes our cover!” he shouted over the fierce gunfire that rang in Hux’s eardrums. “General, I’m going to smash through the front window! Secure yourself!”

“Wait -” Hux yelped, but then they made impact and Hux was forced to flail in search of the small handlebar beneath the dash and -

\- and it was raining glass _everywhere_ , the shrill, high sound exploding like a firework -

\- Ren shouting something nonsensical, perhaps at Hux? -

\- and he felt like something was jerking but he remembered something Tarkin had once told him -

\- _stay calm always when on impact because it’s the drunk who survive vehicular accidents, they stay loose and they are rubber and they bounce instead of snap_ -

\- and then it went dark.

 

* * *

 

He gasped awake to the sensation of warmth. 

It was cold in the Order bunker. He wasn't there, no, he was elsewhere.

It came flooding back:

_trucks; Capital; impact; Building; glass; death; blood; driver?; Ren; dark,_

and now

_light; warmth._

Kylo Ren was leaning over him, blocking out most of the light that threatened to blind him. If Hux didn't know better, he might say that Ren looked concerned.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled through a mind fog.

Ren sat back on his heels, sighing in what perhaps was relief. “Didn't want you to die.”

Hux laughed, and it was bitter. Memories and clear thought began to flow better. ( _He’s enamored by you._ ) “You should.”

“Maybe I want Snoke to die,” Ren replied.

Hux sniffed half-heartedly. “Right.”

“I’m the Heir,” Ren hurried to explain. He seemed earnest, and the current image was far too at war with the perverse shadow that had haunted his waking thoughts. “Snoke dies? I legally take the Office.”

“So?”

“So, I don't want it.” Ren turned away, ran a hand through his thick hair. “I'm a warrior. I'm not suited for that life. But, you.”

Hux’s laugh was extraordinarily hollow. “You're crazy. Who are you, Ren? Are you even truly a Knight?”

Ren frowned tightly. He looked like he was holding back a rage; his fists were trembling and his shoulders were flexing. But his broken eyes were far from anger. (They looked pitying, instead. Hux hated that even more.)

“Can you walk?” Ren asked.

“I'm just slightly bruised,” Hux said in dismissal. To prove his point, he brought himself to his feet with ease and dusted the invisible dirt from his hands.

“Boys,” Organa greeted them. She looked around the reception, taking in the mass destruction and the troops that were checking the perimeter of the room. The small general had ridden in the last truck - it had sustained greater damage than theirs, Hux noted, but Organa had only minor abrasions. “What happened to the Building guards?"

“I took care of them,” Kylo Ren told her flatly.

Hux was intrigued to find that while Organa treated her son like she might treat just another soldier, he did not seem to want to touch her with a ten foot pole.

“All of them?” Organa teased lightly.

Ren frowned. “Obviously not. The first few trucks unloaded soon after we’d impacted the building.”

Hux looked down to notice for the first time that Ren was carrying a bloody blaster, probably taken from a fallen security guard.

He looked up at Ren. “Now what?”

Kylo Ren moved to a side panel on the right wall and tapped in a code to reveal a closet of battle tools. He shrugged on a dark large coat - a Knight's cloak, said to be bullet-proof and impervious to fire - and plucked a long, sharp rapier from the large collection contained there.

Even Organa looked mildly impressed.

“Reinforcements will be on their way,” Kylo Ren said shortly, stabbing the key code roughly into the pinpad. It beeped, and the elevator doors slid open. “Hux and I will take care of the Leader. Wait here for us and fend off the reserves.”

“Like Hell I will!” General Organa protested, slamming Kylo Ren with her most formidable glare. “Someone needs to keep both of you in check!”

“Sorry, but the elevator only takes two. Security purposes.” Kylo Ren actually wasn't sorry at all. He was glad for the ridiculous security, for once. “And I need to be one of the two because I'm the only one here with some level of clearance.”

General Organa frowned. “Then I'm going up with you.”

Five quick steps forward and Hux was in Organa’s face, snarling. His green eyes flashed as he’d shoved Kylo Ren out of the way to force a gloved finger in the other General’s face.

“Right, because _your_ men are the ones sacrificing themselves for a cause that's been eating at them all their lives. And because it was _your_ plan to infiltrate this building,” Hux said, voice and digit shaking with fury. “And because _you_ are the one constantly being told you're worthless and sick and failing because of the hand you write with. Of course. How silly of me, _General_ , to presume that I had _any_ control over this mission at all.”

Everyone had gone quiet.

Organa’s visage softened. “I understand where you're coming from, but-”

“General.” With a word, the Left had silenced her. “You really don't.”

He entered the elevator with Kylo Ren, turning and facing the shocked room stoically. They made no eye contact and they accepted no respect.

 

* * *

 

Kylo Ren was tense. The elevator ride up was quiet but charged, the electricity from the brief scuffle rushing adrenaline through his veins. Pumping, stirring, breathing.

He looked over at Hux, who was slumped against the clear elevator window. His posture screamed FATIGUE and DEFEAT, but there was something fierce in the heavy rhythm of his rising-falling chest and the fire in his eyes. He was probably bruised all over. Whatever adrenaline had let him attack Organa like that was fading, and it was fading fast.

The General looked up, a leering edge to the mock-glare he sent to the Knight. “What are you looking for, Ren?”

“Ben Organa Solo,” the Knight corrected absently. “Ben was actually my real name. If you wanted to know.”

“I didn't.”

“You do now. Do with it what you will.” It had felt like the right thing to say just a minute ago. Yet now Hux was looking at him like he was a naïve child to be held, and he couldn't shake the cold chill that whispered doubts.

Hux shouldered his rifle. “I really don't care,” he dismissed, stone-faced.

Kylo Ren took it in stride.

The elevator came to a smooth slow, and the two men stood a little straighter to prepare for their arrival. This was it, Kylo Ren realized, and there was no turning back now. He had made his choice.

The Leader was going to die.

 

* * *

 

But first:

Kylo Ren ran his blade through the secretary’s heart with little remorse. He'd been a supercilious annoyance. His quick and simple death was all the mercy he'd receive from the Knight.

Hux shoved the limp corpse out of his red-stained office chair and typed furiously at the computer. “Damned thing,” he spat, clicking at the screen with fervor.

“What's wrong?” Kylo Ren asked, immediately tense.

“Not quick enough,” Hux shot back.

The Knight gaped at the General, nerves shot so thin that he wanted to laugh at the redhead’s absurdity. “We have the fastest computers in the entire State.”

“Still not quick enough.”

A few more clicks at the computer and the two could hear the seal on the office door release. Hux scrambled from his seat and refitted his firearm. “Ready?” the General offered coolly, gazing pointedly ahead at the door. His cheeks were lightly flushed.

Very few things fazed him, Kylo Ren noted, amused, but computers were not among them.

Perhaps the Leader was correct after all. Perhaps the Right were more adept at rationale and calculations.

Would that explain Hux’s natural attractivity, and that he could weave words so ugly into something so beautiful?

Or were they just being themselves?

Perhaps he would never know.

He wasn't ready to know that, and he wasn't ready to face the Leader just yet. But Hux expected him to say yes. So that was what Kylo Ren was going to say.

“Of course.”

They moved forward as one.

 

* * *

 

Leader Snoke was waiting for them when they reached his office. It was just as Kylo remembered it: a tall, floor to ceiling window pane overlooking the calm and quiet city ( _too quiet?_ ), a thin white desk with no decoration, a stiff black chair with a high back. A tablet was on the table, Kylo Ren noted, but a normal pen was beside it. 

There was no paper. But, then, it'd been so long since he’d seen either pen or paper.

Hux made a threatening sweep at the Leader with his firearm. “Leader Snoke,” he announced gravely but grandly, “the time has come for the State to cede -”

“I know why you're here,” Snoke interrupted, his voice like gravel. He was standing by the window with his back to the pair. Sharply dressed in business black, as usual. His pale skin was wan in the white light, his shadow long and dark and spread stark behind him.

Hux was undeterred. “Then you know what I must do.” He lowered the bayoneted weapon, and placed his finger on the trigger. Ren noticed his trembling hands.

But Snoke turned around. Kylo Ren could feel the bile rise to his throat when he saw the gruesome grin that tore his face in two.

“What I don't understand, dear General, is why _he_ ’s here.”

A thin, bone-white finger lifted and gestured at the Knight, curling with the energy and the effort it took to make that small gesture.

The Leader was old, Kylo Ren realized, and he was weak.

This would be too easy.

Or, it should have been.

Hux had frozen.

“What are you doing?” Kylo Ren hissed. “Pull the trigger.”

Hux ignored him, as usual. Kylo Ren seethed; Hux spoke: “Speak clearly, Snoke. Your minutes are numbered either way.”

Snoke’s grin was old and gruesome, wriggling beneath his thin skin like a wretched disease. “My old...apprentice, working with First Order radicals? Never in a thousand years. But you,” Snoke all but crooned. There was something dangerous gleaming in his cold, living eyes. “You, O Fabled General, are different. You, a _Left_ ,” Hux winced at the term, “have captured the attention of a powerful Right. It should not be possible.

“And yet look around you,” the Leader motioned with a grand sweep of his frail arm, “and see what he has given up for you.”

“For me,” Hux repeated. Palms shook and trembled. Ren's fingers itched to run a blade through his chest - whose chest? he couldn't tell anymore - but he couldn't, he wouldn't, that was Hux’s job. He could not bring himself to take that away from the General.

“For you,” Snoke echoed.

This was what the Leader did, Kylo Ren realized, numb. He'd done it to him, too. He warped words and fragments of ideas, and he wove them together to feed the weak spots of your mind. And he continued to feed them little by little until you realized that the words belonged to him, but not that you did as well. Once you realized his ownership of you, he killed you.

And that was that.

Except that this one was birthed from truth. Kylo felt ashamed, felt guilty that he'd given away his loyalty so quickly. It was true, what Snoke had said - he barely knew Hux but he somehow knew he loved him. Was he insane?

And then Hux spoke:

“You're a decrepit fool.”

Kylo Ren tapped his sword against the floor, a tide of relief and stubborn guilt washing over when he realized that Hux wasn't so easily manipulated.

Ha. Figured.

Snoke managed a haphazard shrug. “Dear General, that just makes two of us.”

And so Hux pulled the trigger and brought an empire to its knees.

 

* * *

 

His blood sprayed against the white furniture and white walls and white flooring and clear glass. Bits of flesh, too. There was a gaping hole in the Leader’s empty, heartless chest.

Kylo Ren found that he didn't mind, and that was a bit surprising. He had somehow made the right choice, after all.

He stepped over the corpse to join Hux by the large window. Hux had been there a while. Kylo had been watching the body and thinking, thinking, thinking. Neither of them had called Leia or her team, yet. Ren wondered vaguely if it was a bloodbath downstairs. (At least he and Hux would be safe. Selfish, selfish, selfish.)

“What now?” he asked Hux. “You heard what Snoke said,” he added carefully.

Hux never looked away from his focus. “We declare my new position as the head of the State. I need to begin drafting laws that can undo the damage of segregation and -”

Kylo laughed; it sounded choked. “I meant for the two us. What about us, now?”

Hux glanced at him briefly. “You lied to me. Your poetry is terrible. You have literally no redeeming qualities. So, no.”

Kylo blinked. “General?”

“That’s what you were expecting, right?” Hux turned to him fully this time, and Kylo could see the hardness in his eyes. “If not, you're delusional. Snoke said whatever he could to save himself. In the end, it failed.”

Kylo turned red. He could _feel_ his face heating up.

Hux’s terse frown softened. “Oh, Ren,” he breathed, pity underscoring the endearment.

He turned back to the window, lost in thought. He glanced back at him curiously from time to time, reigniting the strange fascination with the red-haired man that coiled and reared its head in Kylo’s gut from time to time.

Kylo thought Hux might have kissed him, and was largely relieved when he didn't.


	5. Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Emperor is crowned, documents are discovered, and a story is ended.
> 
> Chapter title from the slogan of the 1789 radical French Revolution: "Liberty, Brotherhood, Equality".

**ONE WEEK LATER.**

 

* * *

 

Hux was there. He had made it. He had won.

It was a strange concept, victory. He'd promised himself beforehand that he wouldn't become drunk with euphoria, but, well. It was extraordinarily difficult.

Ren signed over his Inheritance willingly, and disbanded the Knights. Hux admitted to having killed Leader Snoke, but with the Great Fear that'd spread throughout the State, most everyone was glad that he'd done so.

Especially when they realized he was Left.

At first, they'd told him that it didn't matter which hand he wrote with. And then he heard the whispers of “he’s Left but he's not crazy he’s actually very level-headed who is this man where did he come from maybe he’s just a Right feinting Left -”

And then he realized that the prejudice wasn't going away. It would be a permanent part of his - their - culture for a very long time and the best they could do was grimly accept it and move on.

Much like Ren, really. Organa died that day they stormed the Building.

(Guard reinforcements did come, but they got to her before she could get to them.)

Kylo Ren wouldn't talk to him for the entire week after their last few words. Hux was his caretaker now, apparently. His co-workers, other high Officers for the New State, teased him for it, making inappropriate noises and asking if Hux could babysit their kids, too.

Hux ignored him for the most part, and Ren did much the same. Ren’s daily routine didn't consist of much. He worked out in the Building’s crumbling exercise room. He ate. He slept.

Hux missed Phasma. She was still at the bunker, recuperating under the care of two or three doctors. She wrote to him on occasion. She, at least, was making a good recovery.

 

* * *

 

It was two weeks after the Fall of the Old State when Hux was officially handed the Laurel. He wore the symbol of his new position with pride, not caring for its heavy weight. He had earned it.

The whole affair was a grand thing with much parade and fanfare. The sky was clear, and the people rejoiced. His new Prime Minister (they had reinstated a Parliamentary force upon popular request of the people; who was he to deny their wishes? it was useless, after all) crowned him and blessed his dynastic rule. Hux gave the weaker man a predator’s grin, and was satisfied.

The people were in an excited frenzy.

Even from his new apartment in the Capital’s finest hotel (the Capital Building was yet to be rebuilt), he could still hear the trumpets blasting.

He was fully expecting to get a good night’s rest before launching himself back into the political throng, but of course the universe had other plans.

Hux had just placed his newly won Laurel in the highly protected case when a sharp knock rapped at his door.

Pausing, partially shocked that anyone dare disturb his nightly routine, Hux called out, “Announce yourself!”

Kylo Ren, came the muffled reply.

That was...unexpected.

“What's your business with me tonight?” he asked, quieter.

Not something that should be spoken of in public.

Hux’s heart pounded in his throat, but he swallowed back such a trivial reaction. “Is it important?” His curiosity was peaked, despite himself.

I think you'll find it highly interesting.

Now that was enticing. He strode across the dark wood floor to greet the door. When he swung the grandly ornate door open, he was surprised to find that Ren was a mess. His hair was disheveled and his dark clothing was coated in layers of dust. His chest was heaving slightly, and his cheeks were flushed.

“What,” Hux said eloquently.

Ren brushed past him roughly, slamming the door shut behind himself and a shocked Hux. “I found them,” he said, excitement threaded through his simple words.

“Found what, Ren?” Hux asked despite the sense dragging his brain that screamed DANGER.

“The Burned Files.”

All thoughts of reservation departed, and his heart nearly stopped right then and there.

 

* * *

 

The Burned Files were all documents opposing the Hand Segregation. Some had given up hope that existed, and those were the ones who now believed in the Theory.

They disgusted Hux. But they did have a point. All they had now were documents that said it did exist. Who could prove it didn't?

And now - hope.

That was dangerous.

“How can you be certain?” Hux asked Ren, voice hushed. If one were to really pay attention, a slight tremor in his voice could be heard.

Ren jerked his chin up slightly. “I read a few articles.”

“Without my knowledge? My consent?” If Hux’s voice raised slightly at the end, it was nobody’s business.

“Don't be a fool,” Ren laughed off, hollowly.

Hux curled his fists about his long gold cotton sleeves. “And you - have some respect for your Emperor.”

“Ah,” Ren said. “Yes. I can see you wear the Laurel now. Impressive.”

“I don't need this from you,” Hux bristled. Then he demanded, “Take me to the Burned Files. I want to see them for myself.”

“It's dangerous,” Ren said, his eyes narrowing slightly. He did not move.

“So am I.”

“Please.”

“I can be. And if not I, then those who work under me.”

“You have someone to keep you in check now. A parliament.”

“Like I don't have fail-safes to ensure my own absolute power!” Hux very nearly snorted. “What do you take me for, a fool?”

Ren looked impressed despite himself.

“Fine,” he said. “Follow me.”

 

* * *

 

Four flights of stairs down from the ground floor, three bypassed high-security doors, and one spat later:

Hux coughed.

Ren flipped on the lights, an ancient generator whirring in a hum to get the power going. Five bookshelves worth of textual history lined the walls, organized into filing cabinets, covered in cobwebs.

“That's all I've seen,” Ren began. “I know it's not much, but -”

Hux stopped him by lifting a single palm. “No. It's more than I'd hoped.” He paused, something thick and foreign lining his throat.

(Was this what real emotion was? He'd felt so angry for so long. Was he released from the burden by Snoke's death, by his own crowning? Had he emancipated his own self?)

“You're welcome,” Ren said drily.

“It's more than I'd hoped,” Hux repeated, ignoring Ren for the time being. Something was stinging his eyes now.

(So many things in so little time. He'd had to be strong all through them. Could he now be weak? Would he allow himself to indulge? Could he trust himself like that in front of Ren?)

“Are you crying?”

“I'm not sad,” Hux said. There was something wet on his cheeks, he realized as he raised a hand to his face.

Ren smiled a grim smile. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

Hux was tired. He was usually tired nowadays, and well. Today he was more tired than usual. The role of Emperor was a taxing one, but he bore his heavy crown with pride.

With the release of the Burned Files - for he'd released every last one to the public - came an immense cry of public support, rumor of conspiracy, and some protestors. Each was dealt with swiftly and with varying levels of hush.

Sighing, Hux sank onto the edge of his bed. Something crinjled beneath him. Frowning, he pulled out a letter from under the blanket. It was merely addressed to 'Hux’.

Curious - and in blatant disregard of his security team, he was too tired for that - he opened it.

 

* * *

 

_Emperor Hux,_

_Congratulations on your new position. Giving my office to you was the best decision I’d ever seen made for the State. And I have made many calls in my lifetime._

_Of course, it is not just that which makes you special. Besides having the qualities of a great leader, you are a passionate speaker and a ruthless politician. Ambition is what drives a soul, and you have far too much to be real. It's intoxicating._

_My poetry, as you say, is terrible. So I won't even attempt that. I will skip to the most important part of this letter, the question:_

_Would you do me the honor of allowing me to court you?_

_It is a simple enough task. I believe myself capable of rising to the honorable occasion. You are a great man, and indeed a good one. You may not believe the latter yourself, but I do. The People do, too. I am glad that I met you._

~~_I_ ~~  
~~_That is,_ ~~  
~~_Please come by if_ ~~  
~~_Hux,_~~

_I think I may love you._

_Kylo Ren_

 

* * *

 

The door banged open.

Kylo shot straight up in his bed, wide-eyed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Yes,” said Hux.

 

* * *

 

**FIN.**

 

* * *

 

_“Are you crying?” / “I’m not sad,” Hux said.  
_ (by the lovely [@slashing-through-fandoms](http://slashing-through-fandoms.tumblr.com/)!)


End file.
